


Are We Not Men

by RemainingQuestions



Category: Hermitcraft RPF
Genre: Challenge Response, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:15:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29408244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RemainingQuestions/pseuds/RemainingQuestions
Summary: There can be doubt about ones qualities, if one falls into a contract like Cub and Scar have.They have each other to assuage the worry.
Relationships: Cubfan135/GoodTimesWithScar (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	Are We Not Men

**Author's Note:**

> Part of [PawPunks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PawPunk/pseuds/PawPunk) title-exchange challenge!

The size of what they want to achieve is overwhelming. Nature sprawls wide around them. The entire peninsula is theirs. Theirs to do with as they wish. Their responsibility. 

Their burden. 

Scar recognises the worry in Cub’s eyes. Recognises hesitation as the size of their labour dawns on them both. 

“Scar…” 

“Are we not men,” he says, gently, strongly, “of industry?” He gestures to the natural hills and from his gestures spring forth mountains. 

“Industry…” and his gestures join Scar’s, painting where factories and farms will stand. 

Plans fold. They always do. There is wavering in Scar’s face. 

“How much longer?” The question is soft but presses against them both. How much longer? 

The words present themselves easily to Cub. “Are we not men,” he starts, feels his tongue form his words for him, “of patience?” 

The worry leaves Scar’s eyes like the smell of smoke after a candle is blown out. Softly, persistently. “We are.” 

There is doubt in Scar’s eyes. Doubt as he looks at the field others decided the battle will take place on. Doubt to the ethics of selling instruments of war to both sides. 

There is the glint of profit in his eyes, too. A gentle hand on his cheek. “Are we not men,” Cub starts, “of investments?” 

He leans into the hand. Leans into the statement. “Yeah,” and the glint of profit gleams brighter, “we are.” 

The battle will wage around their obsidian box. Diamonds flow into their obsidian box. They are men of investments. 

It feels wrong, no matter that it was his idea, to continue meddling. “These aren’t our affairs.” 

“They aren’t.” Scar’s fingers find his. 

He grabs Scar’s hand. “Are we… are we men of integrity?” 

It’s like a prayer, whispered into the night. Any reply would be terrifying. Are they? Aren’t they? 

Scar’s thumb strokes his palm. “We are Cub. We are.” Are they?

Hands clasped, eyes locked. “Are we not men, of devotion?” 

The answer is in the press of lips against lips. A thousand words unspoken slipped between those lips. 

Of course they are. Of course. 

The work is hard. It wouldn’t be work otherwise. “Are we not men,” Scar says as his hands tease apart the weight on Cub’s shoulders, “of persistence?” 

Cub smiles. The mantra, adapted time and again, was familiar to them both. “Sometimes I wish we weren’t.” He whispers in reply. 

Scar kisses his cheek. “And yet…” He whispers in reply. 

And yet they are. They will continue to be. 

The air smells like sulfur, but Cub loves Scar’s base despite it. “Creative. Ingenious.” His smile is soft, as are his words. 

Scar shrugs, flustered at the direct praise. “Men of creativity?” 

“We are, indeed.” 

“Why do you build them a whole town? Why not just put them in a hall?” They’re sitting side by side. Behind them the trees in Cub’s manual farm sway in the wind. 

He can’t clearly answer except in a shrug. “It’s better this way. I think.” He pauses. “I know.” 

“I trust you… but why?” 

The words fall out before Cub realises what he’s saying. “Are we not men of courtesy?” 

Scar’s lips fall on his before any more words spill out. “We are, we are.” 

Skin on skin below soft blankets. “We are men, of passion.” Scar breathes against Cub’s clavicle. 

“Yes, yes, we are, yes.” Cub sighs against Scar’s ear. 

Through it all, the masks call and they answer. They come on and off. Some things never need to be said. 

There was never any question about their loyalty. 

Their hands are clasped, the glint hungry for more is in both their eyes. The sun is setting, dragging the shadows out into long lines in the sand they won’t mind crossing. 

The masks are in their hands. 

Cub holds his up to the light’s dying rays. “Are we not men-” 

“No.” Scar says behind his. “We are not men.” 

Cub falls silent behind him, confused by the break in the now-familiar mantra. 

“We aren’t men of anything. We are Gods.” 


End file.
